


A Sweeter Life

by Slanguage



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Apartment, College, Cute, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash, roommate au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-15 23:25:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2247306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slanguage/pseuds/Slanguage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean knew he was being stupid, but he was really worried about meeting his new roommates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sweeter Life

Dean knew he was being stupid, but he was really worried about meeting his new roommates.

His new apartment complex was one of those that advertised being off-campus student housing, so it had some of the same bells and whistles of a normal dorm setup, such as most of the amenities covered in rent, and a horrible survey that is supposed to somehow miraculously match four people perfectly and plop them into a four bedroom, four bathroom unit and everything is sunshine and rainbows and unicorns. Dean had lied on exactly four of the five questions, anyway, since his little brother had been looking over his shoulder and he didn’t want Sam to think he was a drinking, smoking, sexing delinquent, so Dean couldn’t even imagine what lies the other kids had spread all over the page like butter on toast.

Probably not his best analogy.

It didn’t help that he had just gotten free of a hell of a drive, from Lawrence, Kansas, all the way to Portland, Oregon, home to all of the possible eco-hippies known to mankind that all reminded him of his brother. Dean had done it all in one sitting, and he felt like his legs would never straighten out again—not too much of an issue, as he’s always been bowlegged—and that his back would never be the same and he would walk around for the rest of his undergraduate years looking like the Hunchback of Notre Dame.

To add to it, everything he owned was shoved into his kickass car, for the pure reason that John Winchester had only allowed Dean to come back for the summer after freshman year (after the hefty fight that preceded Dean leaving for college in the first place, and how he kind of came back at Christmas only to kidnap his little brother into a road trip) so that Sammy, the little brother in question, would stop bitching about when Dean was coming home. So Dean, after many an icy glare from his equally ice-queen father was hungry, hunched, looking at a car full of stuff that needed to be unloaded immediately, was finally back in Portland.

Dean heaved a duffle-bag over his shoulder and dug with his free hand for his key, managing to limp upstairs while only looking slightly crippled, reaching out and unlocking the door to number 202, and then shoving it open, figuring he was too tired to care if his roommates hadn’t, actually, lied on their applications, and he would be the odd one out.

He stood in the doorway, blinking against the light of the living room, as a man the size of the average grizzly bear sang Blake Shelton at the top of his lungs, the windows rattling ominously in their frames. Dean had barely been able to wrap his head around the sensory onslaught before the man spotted him, his singing dropping off instead into a big smirk, and the man was thundering toward him in no time, already reaching a hand out to shake.

Dean offered his hand numbly. The guy crushed his finger, pumping their fists enthusiastically, as he greeted him with a drawling southern accent, “Name’s Benny Lafitte. World Languages major at Portland State.”

“Dean Winchester,” Dean greeted the guy, smiling a little as the man backed away a few steps to appraise him, figuring that Benny seemed alright, if intimidating. “Mechanical Engineering. Also Portland State.”

“Good, good,” Benny drawled, clapping his hands together. It sounded like a crack of lightning. “The guy in the room across from you, Castiel—he ain’t here currently—he’s also goin’ to Portland, but he’s in for social work. Quiet kid, but a little strange. Need some help unpackin’?”

Benny was kinda like an automatic weapon. Alarming, and fired off questions that Dean, although entirely innocent of wrongdoing, still felt like he should be dodging.

“Sure thing, man,” Dean said, almost a little overwhelmed by Benny’s kindness. His own father had looked at Dean struggling to fit all of the stuff into the backseat and huffed indignantly. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Nah, I don’ mind,” Benny replied cheerfully, waiting patiently in the front entryway as Dean wandered deeper into the apartment, glancing around. The kitchen was neat, with several cabinets and a fridge and pantry, and even a dishwasher because Dean couldn’t possibly have fancier digs. There were even four stools pulled up to the breakfast counter, and the living room had a couch and a chair and a pretty fucking big television. Dean nearly pinched himself, and then remembered that Benny was still standing there, and he would rather not look _completely_ insane.

He hadn’t grown up in luxury, raising his brother in back-roads towns as his father worked jobs of mysterious origins that didn’t usually last more than a month or two. He’d lived in a lot of seedy motel rooms (enough to say that not all motels were as seedy as they looked from the outside, if one simply ignored the porn everywhere), so living in a furnished apartment with a television and a non-moth-eaten couch was kind of like checking into the Waldorf and finding a complimentary bottle of wine cooling on the table just for him.

Dean wouldn’t have even been able to afford this place if it wasn’t for his uncle Bobby, who wasn’t really his uncle but his dad’s best friend, but was more of his father than anything. He’d slipped Dean a wad of cash last Christmas and threatened to cut his fingers off if he hadn’t taken it. In payment, Dean had worked a lot of free hours in Bobby’s auto repair shop, though he had a sneaking suspicion that the old man that slipped some of that money back into his backpack when he hadn’t been paying any attention during their final goodbye halfway through packing.

The apartment was split up nicely. The kitchen and the living room were in the middle, and the bedrooms were spaced all around the living areas, all of them with their own adjoined bathroom. Two bedrooms were located directly off from the living room, while two of them wrapped around a bit on the outside ends. Judging by the open door next to the entryway with the hearty smell of red licorice pumping into the hall, that one seemed to be Benny’s, while the other three doors were closed. After double-checking his key, he found that his bedroom was one of the ones off from the living room, sharing a wall with the television, and he unlocked the door and pushed his way inside of it.

A bed. A dresser. A desk. A closet. His own bathroom. Decent carpet.

It was fucking heaven.

Dean dropped the duffle onto the floor and took one more proud glance around at the two windows and his own shitty twin bed before turning around and starting for the door, Benny following behind him dutifully as he engaged Dean in small talk; where’s he from, why Portland, any siblings. Benny stopped when he saw the Impala, and then let out an appreciative whistle when he spotted Dean actually walking up to it.

“This yours?” Benny asked redundantly as Dean began pulling his stuff from the backseat, passing Benny a box of books and smiling apologetically as he did so. Benny took the box like it was filled with kittens, still looking at the car with slight wonder. “Man, she’s beautiful. I’m extremely jealous.”

“I’ll give you a ride to the supermarket someday, how about that?” Dean asked weakly as he strained against an armful of a box stacked high with plates and silverware, huffing as they both headed back for the stairs; lather, rinse, repeat. “You have a car?”

“Nah,” Benny replied. “Broke down last week. It’s that shit show over in the corner of the lot. Just kinda parked it over there, hopin’ no one’ll notice it’s not goin’ anywhere.”

“Huh,” Dean said, catching sight of a truly horrific blue Dodge before he had to pay attention to the steps again, not really wanting to die by falling down a flight of stairs and getting crushed by an assortment of wannabe chinaware stolen from motels and diners from all around the country. “You know, I’m handy with cars—I could take a long at that for you.”

“If you wouldn’t mind, brother, I’d really appreciate that.” Benny set the books on the floor of Dean’s room, standing back up to his full height and barely seeming winded. Dean leaned against the counter, trying to catch his breath like an asthmatic middle school kid running the track.

“Sure thing,” Dean panted, straightening back up like it might break his will to live to do so. “How about I keep abusing you for your ability to move things, and you let me know what’s wrong with it?”

Benny grinned at him toothily before breaking into a spiel about _exactly_ what the car had been doing before it had taken the temporary swan dive into car heaven as he and Dean moved the contents of the backseat up into the apartment at least three times faster than Dean thought he would have ever been able to move in, Benny going so far as helping him unpack the boxes of kitchen supplies and finding a space for them as he told Dean all about growing up in Louisiana and his girl back home that he loved something fierce and how he was studying languages but really just wanted to take over his family’s diner and make all the pie that he could, which was definitely enough to peak Dean’s interest.

Eventually, they’d moved their camaraderie to the couch with a beer (Dean had never been more thankful that Benny, too, seemed to have lied shamelessly on his survey), and Dean told Benny all he could stand to hear about Sammy and Bobby and spending the last three summers working on cars and wishing he could just fast forward everything else in his life until he got to that part.

They were in the middle of exchanging stories of the highlights of their college careers thus far—Benny’s being waking up naked on top of the science building with no recollection on releasing all of the rabbits from the lab, and Dean’s being entirely remembering everything that happened before waking up in nothing but a hoola skirt and a coconut bra on the quad after a fairly successful frat party—when the lock of the front door turned, and in strode the mysterious roommate in the fourth bedroom.

The new roommate stared. Dean and Benny stared.

“Joe?” Benny asked cautiously, his eyebrows creeping slowly up to his hairline.

“Oh, goddamn it,” the blonde girl in the doorway growled, scowling. “You’ve _got_ to be kidding me.”

“I take it this happens a lot,” Dean observed. The girl shot him a look that told him to keep his options to himself, and Dean, not really wanting to get on the bad side of any of his roommates, was more than happy to oblige her unspoken request.

“Jo,” the girl drawled in irritation. “J-O. Short for Joanna. Goddamn it.”

Benny, Dean, and Jo all stared at each other for a moment. None of them moved.

“Uh,” Benny began uncertainly. “You still movin’ in?”

Jo opened her mouth in a way that was probably to tell Benny exactly where he could go in order to shut the fuck up, and then seemed to think better of it and slowly closed her mouth. She looked at them for a moment, pondering. And then, she slowly raised her hand to point at them, narrowing her eyes.

“I have a knife collection,” Jo warned them venomously and, for a girl who probably weighed ninety pounds soaking wet, Dean had a feeling that this was a girl he and most every other person on the planet should fear.

“Duly noted,” Dean replied cautiously, and then offered her a smile. “Want some help moving in?”

Jo shrugged. “If you think you can keep up,” she replied, and then started off down the hallway without them with a jut of her chin up and an exaggerated swivel of her hips.

~*~*~*~*~

The settled roommate didn’t show up until later, once Jo had warmed up to them over another beer and an interesting episode of How Its Made, not even until after the three had bickered over the superior of all John Wayne movies, and then had to arm-wrestle to settle the argument (and Benny totally let Jo win, Dean didn’t care how much the man swore he didn’t). The guy didn’t even show up until after Dean had ducked out for a hot shower, emerging back into the living area in his ratty pajama bottoms and holey Batman tee, a towel in his hand as he mussed his hair, yawning. He paused as he entered the room, immediately catching sight of an unfamiliar figure standing at the kitchen counter. The other boy looked up, his eyes wide and whoa.

Hello there.

The guy looking at him was probably Dean’s age, maybe a year older, and he was tanned and Dean’s height and was dressed way too fancy, in black slacks and black shoes and a white button-down and a blue tie that matched his otherworldly blue eyes that were staring at Dean and Dean might actually be drooling, oh god, was he drooling? Dean wanted to reach up to his face and check, but he figured that might be worse, so instead he just slapped on a smile that he hoped didn’t look too much like he was trying not to dribble all over himself and held out a hand for his new roommate to shake.

“I’m Dean, one of two new roommates,” Dean greeted, grinning. The guy just stared, his eyes still wide. After a second, once their hands had dropped and Dean had taken a half-step away from him, the guy blinked.

“Nice to meet you, Dean,” he said, and his voice was rough like gravel and smooth as silk and Dean wanted to hear that voice whisper secrets to him in the middle of the night. “My name is Castiel.”

“Cas,” Dean said, trying it out for size, and smiled a little wider. “You’re the social worker?”

“And you’re the engineer,” Cas replied cordially, nodding. He glanced around, and Dean noticed that there was no sign of Jo or Benny. Cas seemed to notice the same, because he leaned a little closer to him, eyes wide and truthful and trustful, and Cas asked him, “Can I trust you with something important, Dean?”

“Well, you move fast,” Dean commented, and then laughed when Cas didn’t seem to get it, still staring at him imploringly. “Sure thing, man. Scout’s honor; you can trust me.”

Dean just kind of wanted to hear Cas talk some more.

Cas nodded seriously, looking like he was about to lead an army of men into battle rather than leading Dean into his bedroom—wait, his bedroom? Dean halted in the doorway, eyes widening in shock, but Cas didn’t seem to notice or care. He just simply checked to make sure Dean was watching before he pulled the sheet of his bed up enough that Dean could see underneath, where the mattress sat a few feet from the ground, and—

“Technically, there are no pets allowed unless you can acquire a doctor’s note claiming that you need one for therapeutic reasons, such as depression or anxiety,” Cas told him seriously as three guinea pigs looked up at them through the holes in their cage, blinking against the sudden light. “I, admittedly, don’t have the note yet, but I will, eventually, gain one.”

Dean looked at the guinea pigs, and then he looked at Cas.

In hindsight, Dean would argue that was the moment he fell in love with Cas, right then and there, standing with an audience of jittery guinea pigs and a room piled high with books and nothing but Cas, blue eyes and pink lips and stubble and expressions that were either vulnerable or stone. But then, in that moment, Dean hadn’t known what to call it.

The incredibly attractive, incredibly adorable guy looked back at him, seeming confused, and asked, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing, Cas,” Dean said, taking a step forward and kneeling down so he could peer into the cage. He offered a finger through the bars, and all three of the animals clambered over each other to investigate it. “What’re their names?”

Cas’s eyes lit up, and a smile like sunshine broke through the worry on his face, and Dean, even being a guy who lived off of the shore of de Nile, knew, in that moment, that this man was going to mean something.

Cas introduced Dean to his guinea pigs, excitedly explaining the individual pets’ quirks and personality, and Dean couldn’t help but to smile.

Dean was starting to think he was really gonna like it here.

**Author's Note:**

> Yay, roommate AUs!
> 
> I'm taking ficlet requests at the moment. *wags eyebrows* *nudges*
> 
> My Tumblr: shortenedlanguage.tumblr.com
> 
> x Slang


End file.
